9000 Words

Photo credit:  Scott Cain Where does one go When Frozen mud rules I am powerless From Helmikuu I make a fanfareless departure To survive the trip my sanity relies on a deity greater than the god of Mars The transit includes a port called Solmonath To get there without you I leave my soul to God This is a return to sailing and war I am not afraid of my cargo, or morality My journey includes a visit to an international deity named minerva I need to tell her how wrong I was I should not have accepted milk from the wolf Pray for God to remove these defects And the waves and mud will eat me I’m scared of the wolf who is only happy for an hour or mostly more And I am such a lousy mariner So I write a list of those whom I have harmed There are two. God and myself, but mostly myself My destination is Veneralia And unfortunately I can not stay In the church owned by a political party It is tempting but nobody likes the ravings of a drunk...

Photo credit:  Scott Cain Have you heard 23% were in the news today I contemplate if my efforts are worthy A fresh blue dream offers what is real Only, as far as I can tell I am on a random ball in the expanse I am uncertain what I know Do you think we are in this together Have you noticed the beginnings and ends at random intervals I ponder the infinite My machine has only limited control The gauges indicate eventual failure I am lonely Are you really that close, I can see you through my two tiny portholes Can you see the prejudice of my being? It cannot be woke I know not my own folly There is little time to grok this fullness Your is message is garbled I wish to understand you Have you heard Yin Yang and the flowerpot man Do you think my understanding of beauty is broken I crave an emotional connection Kintsukuroi is everything ok W Etherbert C is determined I am desperate for your touch What is this truth without appetite ...

Thinking back to a sunny summer afternoon, I recall an enjoyable starboard tack heading west. Although I’m still unsure sure what came over me. What ever it was it did involve a moment of mental conflict. Looking your way I wondered could he really swim. I was uncertain, and could not remember ever witnessing this skill. Yet there he was sailing in his speedo. And why on earth was he the only person I can think of who wore a competition swimsuit to go sailing. At the time it was more than my young mind could tolerate. I thought to my self, for goodness sakes every one else is wearing shorts! But there he was looking so content; Old Style in one hand, tiller in the other. Where other people on the boat? I can’t recall, but it seems there were? None of this mattered; the important thing at hand was a sequence of actions that needed perfection. One hand for the Old Style, (and he gave it so willingly I must have asked really nicely), second hand for the center of his chest, becaus...

To pursue A hart full of grace. One sometimes finds Them selves impeded  By some sort of sludge. And to deliver on ones desire Requires half the battle of what You wish to acquire.

Photo credit:  Scott Cain With dreams of vacation in the most desolate places January’s glimmer gives way to a new rite of Purification  Though I never could consider her as dismal March  It is all she has to look forward to.  When frozen mud rules  I like W. Ethelbert must work to survive. 

But it seems the truth has never existed, and yet it's so hard to disprove. So I guess I'm only blathering out of my own.

Either way you can embrace the storm in all it's fullness, or escape to protected waters. Beyond the storm, emptiness remains and you are still as much a prisoner as the rest of us. Photo credit:  Scott Cain